


The Well of Disquiet

by SeaBunny (BeBunny)



Category: Old Kingdom - Nix
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/SeaBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When unease settles over the Old Kingdom, Mogget must undertake a journey with an unlikely companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Well of Disquiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phantom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom/gifts).



The small white cat sat very deliberately, and quite obstinately in the tiny patch of spring sunshine that still remained in the courtyard at the Abhorsen's house, perched on a precarious island before the crashing waterfall of the Ratterlin River.

 

His lazy green eyes watched early dragonflies land and sun their wings on the wall beside him, making no effort to swat them, and feeling none of the common feline's compunction to chase down this insignificant prey. On the contrary, he found them quite beautiful. Muttering softly to himself, he slipped once again back into sleep.

 

By the time the sun's rays were threatening to slide off the edge of the wall the dragonflies were long gone, and Mogget was forced to leave the rapidly cooling stone. He stared at the water below, unsettled by sleep-blurred images and the half remembered conversations of his dreams. A sensation was gnawing at his gut that he couldn't fully identify: for weeks it had ebbed and flowed through his consciousness, anticipatory, swirling around at the edge of his vision, never coming completely into focus. It left him feeling disconsolate and apathetic - rare, even for his pessimistic nature. He welcomed the distraction, however. It gave him something to ponder over in the long weeks the house was empty. No longer in the soporific grip of Ranna, but the free-thinking Belgaer, since their encounter with Orannis at Edge over three years before, he had stalked the corridors of the house or spent hours pacing the observatory, dwelling on his dreams and his alarming mood swings. Slowly, a suspicion had developed, tugging at his memory, creating a well of uncertainty that he knew he would need to act on soon.

 

A darker shadow passing overhead shook Mogget from his daydreams. A Paperwing circled the island against the gathering wind, not a messenger, but in the Royal House's own colours. Sabriel was not due back to the house for any reason he knew of, when they cared to share it with him, and Lirael was not far enough from the house to need flight. Ignoring the sense of foreboding that washed over him, his curiosity was piqued. At the very least the visit meant a more interesting dinner.

 

~~*~~

 

It was a few long moments before Sabriel registered the polite purring behind her and inclined her head towards her shoulder, an invitation to approach.

 

Mogget's paws padding on the luxuriously thick carpet made no sound as he crossed the bedroom and leaped effortlessly on to the polished mahogany dresser beside her, brushing his tail under her nose as he settled in an unnecessary gesture of familiarity.

 

“Abhorsen,” he said, testing, his voice uncharacteristically neutral.

 

Sabriel sighed discontentedly, picking at stray mortar around the windowsill. Her dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders and she was worrying at her bottom lip, leaving flushing red marks to appear and disappear as she rolled it between her teeth.

 

“Abhorsen?” Mogget tried again. His nose twitching slightly as a ragged breeze across the island rattled the window glass in its frame.

 

“So you've returned to the house,” he offered after a pause, smirking slightly at his need to state the obvious in an attempt to provoke a reaction.

 

Sabriel simply lifted her gaze from the stone to the scene outside, where the clouds were gathering, sweeping the river out towards the waterfall. “I should be at the palace,” she murmured, hands lifting to rub her temples with slender fingers.

 

Mogget nodded in agreement, thoughts on his own sense of dissatisfaction. “You are between two places.” He hummed, claws making tiny scritching noises against the stone, Sabriel glanced in his direction, irritated.

 

“You have an Abhorsen-in-waiting who is more than capable, and a Queen-in-waiting in Ellimere who frankly surpasses even her father in Royal Stature.” The sarcasm in Mogget's voice at his mention of Touchstone was apparent. “Your sun is setting.”

 

Sabriel straightened, flicked back her hair and turned to face Mogget. The full force of her stare was now upon him, eyes flashing with more than a little anger.

 

“Well that woke you up.” Mogget blinked, arching his back as he stretched.

 

“What are you talking about?” Sabriel growled.

 

“Both of your inheritors wait for your death,” Mogget explained, “although not with anticipation, I might add.” He licked one paw lazily and opened one green eye on the Abhorsen. “Your daughter and your sister need you. You must stop indulging in self dissatisfaction. The second bells appeared a little over three years ago, and yet you are still here, you still have much to do.” He paused. “Just because the weight of time is pressing you onward doesn't mean you should be hurrying. Frankly it's amazing you and your father both lived so long; the life expectancy of an Abhorsen is usually not so encouraging.”

 

Sabriel exhaled, her anger ebbing. “It's easy for you to say.” She poked at Mogget's fur as she spoke. “_You _endure, your 'work' lasts millennia.”

 

“Do not hope to think your mark can be so deep,” Mogget warned. “The Abhorsen's power is passed down the bloodline over generations for a reason.” He waved a paw towards the window. “Powerful humans have become formidable undead in pursuit of lesser goals.”

 

He snorted at Sabriel's protest at his insinuation. “Don't misunderstand me.”

He paused, head cocked towards the bedroom door. “Dinner's ready,” he declared.

 

He was halfway across the room before the dark, hooded sending turned the doorknob, preparing to make the announcement.

 

~~*~~

 

As Sabriel's Paperwing remained perched in its bay, and silent, shadowy sendings hurried back and forth to make rooms habitable and baths hot, the small white shape crossing the river and heading northwards was unnoticed and unmarked by the inhabitants of the Abhorsen's House.

 

~~*~~

 

Lirael Goldenhand's sword was pulled shakily from its scabbard. Reflecting none of the sunset's light, its Charter spelled blade quivered dangerously in her hands. The bells strapped across her chest remained untouched, her lips fumbling over the familiar spells for protection.

 

The Phantom slid effortlessly forward another few feet. It knew what stood in front of it, who bore the blade, and although the honed metal could not slice its ethereal flesh, the marks swirling on the steel would bite as hard as any axe or dagger.

 

The thing belonged essentially to the greater dead: it, like any other of its kind newly crawled through the gates of death into the light of the living world, craved a body to inhabit. It had been so close at the farm a few miles back, but this Abhorsen had chased it down to this copse, and forced it to face her.

 

It had not expected to face a woman so obviously out of her depth, however, and that had given it hope. It now advanced on her, a residual, manic grin splitting its face horizontally in repulsive mockery of the tight expression the Abhorsen-in-waiting wore.

 

Behind her, a dark shape watched, outline broken through the low bushes. Its breath curling in the cold air from a long graying muzzle, hackles raised from the tension. The silhouette did not start towards the fight, but its red eyes followed every move the combatants made.

 

When Lirael slipped on the sodden grass, thrusting Nehima forwards clumsily, accidentally raking the Phantom a diagonal slash across its inky torso, it gave her enough time to fumble a bell free from the bandoleer. Amidst the dead's shriek of agony and frustration, Lirael chimed a shaky but strong melody with Kibeth that opened the way into death, and sent the Phantom slipping through it, sliding along the ground like smoke pulled through a back-draft. She sank to her knees, gasping, for a long moment. Finally, using the sword to lever herself upright, she returned the bell to its holster, ensuring its silence, and made her way limping back towards the farm.

 

After a few moments, the Disreputable Dog emerged from the undergrowth, sniffing at the place the Phantom had disappeared into death. She huffed a low bark and a Charter mark glowed brightly in the air in front of her snout momentarily before dissipating over the mud. If the Phantom emerged from death again, it wouldn't be here. Briefly, the Dog wondered if she should follow it in to death to ensure its passing the ninth gate, but her gaze shifted to where Lirael had exited the clearing. If this were any indication of things to come, she could not afford the time it would take. Shaking herself roughly, she glanced at Lirael's path one last time, before loping in the other direction. Northwards, towards blackening clouds.

 

_~~*~~_

 

Mogget sighed in frustration as his paws sank further into the banked up snow. His fur was sodden. The blizzard had intensified to the point of blindness, and his whiskers kept freezing solid. To describe himself as uncomfortable was a gross understatement. He had considered changing into his dwarfish form, but the snow still falling on the path to the glacier would have made the going even slower, at least like this his form was light and his profile small.

 

Pausing briefly under a rocky outcrop to take stock, he considered the distance he had yet to travel. If his hunch proved correct, he had to climb to the top of the glacier in order to reach the source of the growing unease in himself, and in Sabriel. He knew the other bloodlines would also be affected: Touchstone, Sam, even the Clayr. His gaze swept down over the valley and stilled on the deserted entrance to the great glacial dwelling the sisterhood called home, skies above empty of the usual Paperwings. He tried to imagine what they were suffering inside. It was probably quite grim, he decided, not without some satisfaction.

 

Under the ledge the wind was a little less severe. He could hear it howling past, throwing up clouds of powdery snow across the bare stone. Not three paces from him was a pale rock that looked like it had been placed here very deliberately. As Mogget drew nearer he realised that it was not a rock at all, but a rabbit, quite dead. He peered at it suspiciously. It showed no signs of injury, no wounds, had apparently not died of sickness since it was not laying sprawled but had died sitting up, as if it were simply waiting. He came to the conclusion that it had frozen to death, or starved, since it was terribly thin. Yet he could sense no magic, Charter or otherwise, so why had it not simply eaten the grass outside the shelter before the blizzard had begun?

 

Mogget waited with the ill-fated rabbit until the winds had died down a little, the snow falling heavily, but no longer whipped into the wind against the rocks. He resumed his climb slowly, sensing magic ahead, both free and Charter, and realised with a sinking feeling who it was likely to be. There was only one being who balanced both sides of the spectrum so effortlessly, and besides, the smell of wet dog was already filling his nostrils.

 

_ **~~*~~** _

 

The Disreputable Dog waited patiently on the path for Mogget to catch up. Her fur hung heavy on her frame, weighed down by clinging snow, and her red leather collar, swimming with charter marks and the only external indication that she was anything other than a common farm mutt, shone softly in the dull light.

 

When the small feline form emerged from the snow she nodded once and greeted him cheerfully.

 

“Fine weather we're having!”

 

Mogget snorted. “Nothing ruins _your_ good mood, I see.”

 

The Dog's composure tightened.

 

Mogget's approving nod was a reassurance to her. They were both there for the same reason, in the interests of the Old Kingdom, and its guardians.

 

~~*~~

 

The Dog eyed the small white cat warily as they made their way in silence, the winds abating a little as they approached the summit. Their alliance was uneasy, but stronger than it had been, before Yrael had chosen life over the destruction of the world.

 

They reached a ledge over a rapidly flowing spring stream, the water pooling at various points in the rock, and Mogget's pace quickened to its bank. Above, a partially frozen waterfall tumbled into the nearest pool, cascading over its lip and further down into a twin pool below. At the edge the Dog found Mogget staring at the restless waters with intense concentration. She sat beside him, peering at the stream.

 

Mogget tipped his chin towards the surface.

 

“There are salmon,” he murmured. He nudged a pebble into the pool with his paw; it dropped into the water with a satisfying '_plink_', but the Dog saw no movement from the fish below.

 

“Why are they not climbing the waterfall?” she asked.

 

“They should be spawning,” Mogget replied. “Fresh, juicy, spawning salmon, full of eggs,” he added wistfully, entirely to himself.

 

The Dog waded a little way into the pool, feeling the icy water soak into the fur of her legs. She could see the salmon below, unafraid, not bothering to swim away, or even around her paws, nudged out of the path of her limbs. She reached down and flipped one out on to the bank with her teeth to land squarely in front of the cat.

 

Mogget stood, readying to duck out of the way of flapping fish and stray droplets, but none came. The fish simply lay on the bank where it had fallen, gasping.

 

“An easy meal!” The Disreputable Dog grinned.

 

“Why doesn't it fight for life?” Mogget asked. “Why do they not climb the fall, or flee you?”

 

The Dog lifted another fish from the water, where it lay limp between her jaws.

 

“Dnno!” she huffed, muffled voice puffing out her cheeks.

 

Mogget poked at the fish on the bank with a claw. It did not react. He pushed it back into the water from the rock and it slid upright in the pool, but made no move from the spot where it had fallen.

 

The Dog finished her meal quickly, intending to make the most of a find, while Mogget watched the apathetic fish.

 

He turned his gaze up to the caves above them, higher up the path on the glacier. A sickening idea was beginning to form. The fur at the base of his spine tingled and stood upright.

 

“Do you suppose its influence has spread?” he said quietly.

 

The Dog say back on her haunches and licked her muzzle clean. “To fish, you mean?”

 

Mogget nodded. “I found a rabbit on the path, starved. It hadn't moved in some time, simply died sitting still, or froze there."

 

The Dog followed Mogget's gaze upwards.

 

“It is possible,” she replied, thoughtful. “The bloodlines would be the first affected, anything connected to the Charter, but if something has been warped, it could affect anything, animals, people...”

 

“Plants,” Mogget cut in. He padded over to the waterfall. Icicles hung from crevices in the rock, but between them, spring leaves of rock dwelling grasses were appearing. He bushed a paw against one plant; its bud unopened, it fell away from the stone with no resistance.

 

The Dog sniffed at it. “Gave up its hold,” she said.

 

Mogget gestured upwards. “Something has cracked up there.”

 

~~*~~

 

The sunset, far behind them, had given way to murky dusk. Ahead, a cave loomed out of the ice like a great beast, jaws wide. Icicle-teeth partially closed off the entrance, azure shards hanging uneven and jagged from the overhang.

 

Inside, the walls were smoothed with centuries of icemelt, deep crevices pocketed every surface and stalactites dripped from the ceiling, throwing wild shadows into the roof.

 

The Dog and Mogget picked their way between pockets of ice, through the entrance, into the deeper recesses of the cave. Above them, cracks and flutes in the rock let in silvery patches of moonlight, sending up sparkling reflections in the frosted stone.

 

From every jutted rock, every stalactite and every icicle, free magic crackled and spat, sparking like lightning from one surface to another. Mogget could taste the coppery tang everywhere, and he felt his own essence swelling in response.

 

Here and there, Charter marks glowed dully, some carved into the walls, or the roof. Some of the carved marks were dark, simply gouges in the stone, their power long gone.

 

Towards the back of the cavern, a great slab of granite was resting on a platform of marble, tomb-like and cold. It should have been swarming with the Charter, and lit up like a beacon. Instead it was dark, oily, and slick with a wet, moldy lichen.

 

“Here it lies,” breathed the Dog. “The Well of Disquiet.”

 

Mogget mumbled an agreement, and paced around the platform, nose turned away from the damp and cloying mold.

 

“No one has maintained this in centuries,” the Dog whispered. “Disrepair does not even begin to cover it.”

 

Mogget's circuit brought him back to stand once again beside the Dog.

 

“If this were to break free...” he began.

 

“The world would simply cease!” the Dog said.

 

Mogget rolled his eyes. He backed away from the stone to stand on the icy floor.

 

“Lords and ladies starving at the banquet table, farmers dying in bed, crops untended, fledglings in the nest unflown and unfed, grasses dry and brittle.” He shook his head. “A slower death than the one afforded by the destroyer, and quieter, but the death of a world nonetheless.” He glanced back at the entrance to the cave. “It's probably strong enough to cross the wall, too!”

 

The Dog walked a quick diamond around where they stood, and at each point a fresh Charter mark appeared, glowing strong and bright. Inside the completed diamond the two stood beside one another while the Disreputable Dog prepared to renew the age-old restraints on the well of free magic that was overflowing into the cavern.

 

At first under her breath, the Dog breathed the Charter, growing stronger and louder as her spell gathered speed, until the Charter simply flowed _through_ her, a vessel of power pouring like water from a jug, the means to bind the raw, unfettered magic of the Well.

 

Mogget pushed back as hard as he could: he could feel the Charter closing in on his own power, as a creature of free magic himself, but, as he had done alongside the Abhorsen, beside so many Abhorsens, he allowed his power to align with the Charter, to travel the wrong way along the current, adding impetus to the bindings the Dog was weaving.

 

The Well began to boil, bubbles of magic popping, throwing erratic pulses of power into the atmosphere. Icicles fell one by one at first, then in waves, shattering on the stone floor, in response to each pulse. The Charter flowed into each carved mark, renewing its spell, like lighting little lamps, each throbbing with regenerated purpose.

 

Gradually, the Well succumbed to the combined efforts of Mogget and the Dog. Its power ebbed, crackling. The residue, coppery and wild, flowed backwards into the Well, under the granite. The moss, blacked and crisp from the onslaught of energy flaked from its perch, fell like ash from the stone.

 

With one last _crack_ that shook the diamond of protection they had formed to the point of breaking, the Well fell silent and, with a faint sense of regret, Mogget felt only the Charter filling the cave. Everywhere, the renewed Charter glowed and swirled, brightest where the centuries old carvings cut deep into the rock. The immense granite slab was once again swimming with marks, a constant spell, locking the free magic in place, providing no crack or crevice for it to creep through.

 

Obviously drained, the Dog took in a deep breath and exhaled in a plume of condensation.

 

~~*~~

 

The unlikely pair made their way back down the glacial path in the deep moonlight in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Ahead, loud, furious splashing caught Mogget's attention and he ducked under a ledge to arrive once again at the pooling steam and waterfall.

 

A barking laugh behind him echoed his own sense of relief: amid the tumbling water and icy torrents the salmon were jumping, continuing their ancient and ludicrous breeding pattern. He grinned, exposing his sharp teeth.

 

When he caught up with the Dog, a few hundred yards down the path, he was as smug as ever.

 

~~*~~

 

They sat, gazing over the glacier. Above the Clayr's home, lit by the sunrise, Paperwings were taking flight, circling above the valley on invisible thermals, the suppressing influence of the Well now lifted.

The Disreputable Dog sniffed loudly. “Lirael has much to learn.”

 

Mogget grinned. “She has excellent tutors.” He gestured towards the valley. “And a large family.”

 

“I will watch for her,” the Dog said, “all the same.”

 

Mogget snorted. “As we all do. _Our_ work lasts millennia.”

 

The Dog turned, huffing a small bark, and Mogget felt the way into death open behind him. A distant sensation of water washing over him, ghost-like and freezing.

 

“We will watch for them all,” he added.

 

The Dog paused. “Always,” she replied, and Mogget felt her presence dissipate as she crossed into death's door to wander its border once more.

 

Mogget sat alone for some time, when the sun had risen fully, and the valley was bathed in pale spring sunshine he started back on the path to the Abhorsen's house. Above him, from the sparse trees of the mountains, the earliest fledglings of the season were taking their first joyous flight.

 

 

 


End file.
